The Domino Effect
by Lucrezia-Farnese
Summary: Théodred survives the Fords of Isen. Now we must watch the domino effect take shape as one altered event changes the entire future of Rohan, and that of his cousin, Éomer. Novel Length. Théodred/OFC - Eomer/Lothiriel.
1. The Next Chapter of One's Life

May 1 3019 Spring

Minas Tirith, Gondor

He should have been dead. That was what Théodred, newly fixed King of the Riddermark thought of himself as he stood witness to the grand coronation of his friend-at-arms, Aragorn. Both men had been to the Black Gate and back, fought against the tribulations of Mordor on behalf of the light of the west, and defeated their greatest foe, the Dark Lord. Now, everything had changed; his life would never be the same again. He was a king now, but not yet crowned in the eyes of his own people. Théodred looked up at hearing Faramir's voice.

"Men of Gondor, hear now the Steward of this Realm! Behold! One has come to claim the kingship of this Realm. Here is Aragorn son of Arathorn, wielder of the Sword Reforged, of the line of Valandil. Shall he be king and enter into the city and dwell here?"*

"Yea!" The great crowd cried, many throwing their arms up and taking their caps off.

Théodred was quite intrigued when Aragorn insisted on having the half-ling, Frodo carry the White Crown to Gandalf who placed it upon Aragorn's head.

"Behold the King!" Faramir cried. Music began playing, and people shouted their joys and happiness.

Théodred walked alongside his cousin, Éomer in the procession of the new King Aragorn or Elessar as he was now to be called. Both fair-haired men walked in silence through the flower-laden streets of Minas Tirith. As joyous as the moment was, Théodred had anything but celebrations running through his mind. He was happy - happy that his people were saved from the darkness of Mordor and that of Isengard. The only regret he had was that he could not save his father, Théoden King. The late king's son felt a heavy weight in his chest, knowing the torment his father must have felt at the end. He had watched his father succumb to darkness; dwell in the shadows of his one golden hall, unaware of those around him. Then Gandalf had arrived in Edoras and freed his father, making him renowned to his people. Théodred had knelt at his father's side, receiving his blessing before battle. Together they had fought together, fulfilled the Oath of Eorl the Young, had ridden to Gondor's aid at the darkest hour, and participated in the fiercest battle of the Great War. Then, just like that, Théodred was left alone without a father. Many around him would think that the young king would be used to not having a father after all these years. But through those four heart gripping years, Théodred always held onto the hope that one day his father would be free again, and their lives would go back to the way they were before the shadow of Isengard fell over their House. He was being naive; Théodred knew that, but he was a son, who loved his father more dearly than anything else did.

"Cheer up, Cousin," Éomer said beside him. "This is a great day for not only Gondor, but also the Riddermark."

Théodred forced a smile, watching the pretty ladies on the sideline waving flowers and handkerchiefs at the procession. "It is indeed, though one cannot feel the burden of his lands, for they have been greatly affected by the burnings of Isengard."

A shadow formed over Éomer's face; he nodded. "It will take many months... years! before our lands will be fully fertile once more."

"We have a grim year ahead of us, Cousin."

Éomer sighed silently, watching the handsome features of his older cousin's face darken once more. "You will do your father proud, Théodred. No Eorling could ask for a better ruler in the coming years."

"I will need you, Éomer," Théodred said suddenly. "I will need you by my side. I cannot do this alone."

Éomer chuckled. "You speak as if you are a child."

"In some ways I feel like a child. Now I know how our grandfather, Thengel King must have felt spending the remainder of his princely years without a father." Théodred turned to face Éomer. "That is not how our tradition goes. A Crowned Prince is to remain at his father's side until said father is on his deathbed, ready to hand the crown over to him. His heir is his apprentice, and that apprenticeship is to last until his father's last breath." Théodred sighed heavily. "I have missed so much of my father's teachings."

"You are not the only one," Éomer grumbled.

Théodred closed his eyes, feeling somewhat guilty. He had forgotten Éomer's father had died when his cousin was just a boy. It was something that continued to elude his mind as Éomer had been raised in the king's court as the sister-son of his own father.

"Forgive me," Théodred finally spoke. "You know my intentions were not of the dire sort."

Éomer smiled. "That I know, Cousin."

The procession had halted at the ramp leading into the citadel. The guards disbanded, moving to the allocated positions in the front courtyard of the castle, while Gandalf escorted Aragorn into his new home and palace. The rest of the procession spread out among the courtyard while Merethrond, the Hall of Feasts, was prepared for the evening events. Éowyn – Éomer younger sister – stood with the newly appointed Prince of Ithilien, Faramir. Théodred smiled, knowing of the affection between the two, and even Éomer had a sense of approval in his eyes.

"I hope Lord Faramir knows what he is getting himself into," Éomer murmured to his cousin, amusement in his eyes.

Théodred chuckled. "I am sure our beloved Éowyn is a golden jewel in the eyes of the steward."

"She has informed me of her intentions on returning to the Mark with us," Éomer continued.

"She has no choice _but_ to return with us," Théodred observed. "If her desire is to wed the Prince of Ithilien, then it would not be proper by... let us say Gondorian standards for the future Princess of Ithilien to be living as a guest to her to-be husband."

Éomer blinked. "Quite a mouthful, Cousin." Both men grinned at each other. "It is good to know that some of your propriety has survived the war. It should help you to attract a reasonable bride."

Théodred hummed with approval. "Another task in which my kingship demands of me."

"If you wish for your House to continue, then yes."

Théodred gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I have appointed you as my successor."

Éomer bowed his head. "And I am thankful for it, Cousin. Yet you need an heir of your own body, not that of your aunt."

Théodred laughed. "My late aunt bred well! I am in complete confidence that I shall not find a bride who could bear me such strong willed children as your aunt did for your father."

It was Éomer's turn to laugh. "By the looks of these flower maidens of Gondor, you had best turn your hope to one of our own stock."

"Quite indeed," Théodred agreed, observing a small group of ladies chatting nearby. Their gowns were of the finest silks, their hair dark as night, done up in elegant hairstyles. Quite different indeed compared to the hardy women of the Mark who enjoyed having their hair flowing down their backs or braided with gowns made of cotton, velvets, or wool. Very different indeed...

"Observing the flora, I see." Both men turned to the voice behind them and saw the youngest son of their comrade, Prince Imrahil.

"Prince Amrothos," Théodred said, clasping hands with him. "It is good to see you once again."

"Likewise," Amrothos replied, turning his attention towards the women. "Not to your taste?"

"We like our women approachable," Éomer commented.

"Not to mention touchable," Théodred added.

"Yes," Éomer said, frowning at the women. "These ones appear to shatter at the slightest touch."

Amrothos laughed. "There is no mistaking you two grew up together! Fear not! Not all our women are... as you say 'breakable'. Come to the coastline, we have a good stock of 'touchable' women."

"I will hold you to that," Théodred said friendly, pointing his finger at the young prince.

Amrothos nodded his head towards his oldest brother, Prince Elphir. "My brother's wife, Lady Malrin is quite a woman! She is from the coast and does not quite fit into these high court gatherings. The same may be said about my sister."

"Ah, yes! You have a sister," Théodred said, remembering Imrahil talking fondly of his youngest child.

"Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," Amrothos said, sounding out her entire title. "Quite approachable, but... a modest lady who can come off as shy."

"In the Mark, shyness is the explanation of a modest woman," Éomer said.

"You sound out our realm as if our women are mute!" Théodred observed.

"Many were mute these past years."

"For good reason," Théodred said, feeling very protective of his people.

Amrothos bowed his head, hiding his smile. "Well, in any case, my beloved sister shall be attending the celebrations this evening." He turned to leave, but stopped short, twisting his back to face both men. "I should give you, Théodred King a fair warning; my father has high hopes you will dance with Lothíriel tonight." The young prince gave him a wink then left back to his own brothers.

Théodred eyed Éomer warily. "Is it too bold to say that if I do not find this princess appealing or interesting, that I can turn a blind eye?"

Éomer grinned. "As long as you do it the Eorlingas way."

Théodred laughed wholeheartedly. "There would be no other way."

Music rang in their ears that evening, as harps and violins soothed the gathering of guests within Merethrond. The hall was a light from hundreds of candles hanging in circles from high chandeliers, or hung elegantly on silver and gold candlesticks on the walls. The silver and black banner of Elessar hung down from the dais, followed by the blue banner of Dol Amroth, and the green banner of Rohan. The three great lords of these lands sat at the high table upon the dais talking merrily amongst each other, with the steward, and other lords of the many fiefdoms of Gondor.

"It is comforting to see your spirits have lifted," Aragorn said to Théodred, who was sitting to his left. "Enjoy yourself this evening."

Théodred smiled distantly, watching the guests taking their allocated seats. "I am rather looking forward to becoming better acquainted with your people. I fear this past decade I have not been so fortunate as to do so."

Aragorn smiled. "I fear I am much obliged to do so myself."

"It should not be too hard," Théodred remarked humorously. "Observing this crowd of visitors, one could easily make an estimation of at least three hundred guests." Théodred grinned at his friend. "Three hundred eager guests ready to make your acquaintance."

Aragorn inhaled and let it exhale slowly, and then joked: "Would it be fair enough to say that this was a reason for my remaining in the north?"

Théodred chuckled. "Having to acquaint myself with three hundred strangers who have to bow before my feet does indeed appear adverse."

"You must be eager to return to the Mark, then?" Aragorn inquired, drinking his wine.

"Quite eager indeed, my friend," he answered. "As much as the scenery and architecture of your new city has kept me fairly in awe, I must return to my own lands and set order there once more."

Aragorn nodded. "A tough task ahead of you. Fear not, we are allies, and allies are true friends to another. What mine is yours."

Théodred could not help but grin at that. "Truly? If that be the case, I require two hundred of your best and strongest horses, twenty yards of leather and gold thread to make new saddles, a tonne of hay to feed these horses, and if it is possible, I would need one large stable built to house two hundred horses."

Aragorn raised his brows and laughed, rather pleased to find his old friend was getting his sense of humour back. "Demand that of my fellow lords and they will never wish to hear from you again."

Théodred chuckled. "There is no need to fret. I would never ask your people to part with their steeds. In any case, we Eorlingas prefer to ride our own breeds. It is our heritage and pride of the Riddermark." He sat back in his chair, feeling content for the moment. His eyes wandered over the crowed, watching everyone talk, gossip, and laugh. How cheerful everyone had become almost an instant after the war was over. In some of their eyes, Théodred could not even see a hint of sadness or a sense of loss at having a relative die. Could people so easily forget?

Aragorn stood up, causing everyone to follow suite, then sit down once again. "I thank you all for your attendance this evening," the new king began. "It has been a hard and tough few years gone by, but now as your newly appointed king, it is my dearest hope that together we can rebuild our fallen cities, work, and live together in peace and serenity with our neighbours and allies."

The crowd applauded, many cheering. Aragorn smiled, raising his hand to silence them. "It is my greatest honour to have our friendship with the men of Rohan restored and renewed stronger than before. They have fulfilled their Oath to us, and for that, we are in their debt, and will forever honour their fallen comrades."

Théodred gripped his wineglass tightly at that sentence, feeling the loss of his father once more, and the almost death of his cousin, Éowyn.

"Hail to our allies of the north!" Aragorn cried, raising his goblet in toast.

"Hail!" the crowd roared.

"Hail to our future and lands of peace!"

"Hail!"

Théodred drank deeply into his wine, wanting to forget his sorrows. After all, this was a celebration, and what kind of young handsome king does not feel like celebrating? He was certainly not going to fit into that category. After the food had been served and dessert eaten, Aragorn instructed the tables to be moved aside and the dancing to begin; many people flocking to the dance floor instantly.

Théodred excused himself from the dais and walked down to where Éomer stood with Prince Imrahil.

"Friend," Théodred said, grinning as he and Imrahil grasped hands. "It is good to finally have the chance to speak to you!"

Imrahil laughed joyously. "Likewise! Tell me, when do you and your cousins plan on leaving?"

"The eighth day of this month," he replied mechanically. "Only a week away, but much is in need of my attention back home."

Imrahil nodded. "I only ask as I have my two youngest sons quite eager for another adventure. Perhaps on the return of your second visit, you would do me the honour of taking them off my hands."

Théodred and Éomer laughed together. "I would never suspect Erchirion and Amrothos being nuisances," Éomer remarked dryly.

"Ahh." Imrahil waved his hand at the young man. "Not at all! They are much like you two - young, eager, and can become bored moderately easily. Both are capable sailors, but I obtain this inkling every now and then that sailing the seas is not enough for them."

Théodred nodded, agreeing wholly. He remembered many years ago becoming so bored of Edoras, that he went out camping in the Wold for an entire month with his eored. But that was before he considered his life and station important, before his father had become ill and withdrawn. Now, those days were a lifetime ago.

"Cousin," Éomer said, cuffing his older cousin's shoulder.

"Hmmm?"

Imrahil smiled knowingly. "I was just saying that you have not met my daughter, Lothiriel."

"Ehh..." Théodred knew where this was headed, and frankly, he did not approve of having women thrown at him. Not that he believed Imrahil would throw his daughter at him, perhaps a gentle push. "I would be honoured making the princess's acquaintance."

As Imrahil left to retrieve his daughter, Théodred eyed Éomer warily. "I doubt she will be too bad," Éomer said, shrugging carelessly. "This is your life now – having princesses at your service."

Théodred coughed back a laugh, thinking of his cousin's words in the wrong context. "Honestly, no matter how appealing she is, even if she removes all her clothes before me, I could not find her appealing enough for me."

"You have not even met her!" Éomer remarked. "Besides, I highly doubt Imrahil would stand by idly as his daughter removed all her clothing before you."

Théodred groaned, not enjoying this rather pushed on situation. He saw Imrahil returning with a shorter, dark haired figure following. The young king felt his heart starting to beat faster, knowing he was about to be put on the spot.

"Ah," Imrahil said pleasantly, seeing both men waiting patiently. "May I present my daughter, Princess Lothíriel."

Out of her father's shadow she came, her hands clasped at her waist, wearing a light blue gown, trimmed in silver. As all the other ladies, her hair was neatly done up with a silver circlet tracing her forehead.

"My lady," Théodred said, holding her hand to kiss it. "It is an honour to finally meet you."

Lothíriel curtsied deeply, her head bowed, but raising it to meet his eyes, as she stood straight once more. "I thank you, Théodred King for having me in your presence."

That sounded rehearsed, Théodred thought to himself, keeping his features smiling. "This is my cousin, Lord Éomer of Aldburg." Théodred frowned himself when he saw small frown lines appear on her features. He turned and noticed Éomer gaping – not rudely – but in a way a man did when he was at a loss for words.

"My lord," she said, curtsying again, but not as low. She fidgeted with her hands, looking up at her father for approval to continue speaking. From his nod, she spoke: "I have heard so many wondrous tales about the two of you from my father and brothers. All speak so... kindly and praise all your skills as riders and swordsman. It is... exciting to finally meet the two of you in the flesh."

_Exciting_ to finally meet? Théodred knew she was not lying by the glee in her dark eyes whilst she talked. So far, he would not call her shy as Amrothos had, but she definitely stuck to the rules of formality. Pretty too, Théodred thought, vaguely tilting his head to the side. She had beautiful round eyes, shaded in various greys, her skin was a milky texture with a hint of light brownness to it, and her lips were at full bloom too. Appealing, very appealing. She appeared delicate, but from the way she stood tall, her hands firmly clasped, he could sense strength within her.

Théodred noticed Imrahil watching him observe her; he smiled consciously, noticing that Éomer had finally found his tongue and had struck up a conversation with the princess regarding Rohan and Gondor's culture differences. _That_ was a conversation Théodred had gotten over with a _long_ time ago. So far, it was the main topic between the soldiers of Gondor and his riders. How long would it take everyone to get the culture differences out of their systems vocally?

"Théodred King." Lothíriel's voice drew him back to reality, "are the dances of your people different to those we are witnessing tonight?"

Théodred blinked hard, having not payed any attention to the dancing. He turned around and saw two lines of people, one of men, another of women, dancing gracefully. Théodred could not help but chuckled aloud. He turned back to his companions, facing Lothíriel.

"Forgive my amusement, my lady," he began, finally able to suppress his laughter. "But the dances of the Mark are more informal and lively."

Lothíriel nodded. "I shall very much enjoy having the privilege to experience one of your people's dances, my lord."

Théodred smiled at her. "If your father is gracious enough to accompany you to the Mark, then I will be more than pleased to show you the steps."

Lothíriel beamed with delight, sharing a smile with her father.

Théodred continued. "But for now, I would ask for your hand in the next dance, Princess."

Lothíriel smiled shyly, placing her hand lightly on his. "I would be honoured, my lord."

Well, he thought to himself. He may as well get it done and dusted. Whilst waiting for the next dance to begin, Théodred glanced to the other side of the hall and noticed her. It was pretty hard not to notice her, for she was the only woman in the hall and probably all of Gondor itself to be standing in front of a large crowed with her hands on her hips, her stance hard, her eyes glaring out at the dancing. Théodred could not help but smile at her posture. She was dressed probably in her finest gown – a woman of nobility – and yet there she stood, not giving a care in the world that the people beside her were appearing quite uncomfortable in her presence.

"Who is that young woman?" Théodred murmured into Lothíriel's ear.

Lothíriel gave a small appreciative smile. "That is Lady Míria of Pelargir; she is of... obscure stock."

Théodred smiled tightly, refraining from laughter. Obscure stock in Gondor? Who would have thought!

* * *

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**Author's Note  
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*****Faramir's speech is taken from The Return of the King, Chapter V: The Steward and the King. Please be aware that I have cut it short, and changed some lines around to make it more original and not entirely plagarised. No copyright infringement intended.

**Fact:** Rohirrim is Sindarin for 'People of the Horse-lords' and was used by outsiders. The name they had for themselves was Eorlingas, after their king Eorl the Young who had first brought them to Rohan.

**Lady Demiya**


	2. A Marriage Idea out of Protocal

Théodred led Lothíriel onto the dance floor making quick glances towards the _obscure_ young woman. She appeared not to notice the stares at all; she held out her hand towards another young woman who appeared to be of blood relation from similar physical features. She pulled the girl away with a furious yank to the outskirts of the hall. Théodred had no time to comprehend the situation, as the dance had begun, the young king already finding himself out of step. If there was one thing his childhood education failed to provide him with was an experienced and enthusiastic Gondorian dancing instructor. He excelled in his own traditions, but those of his closest ally eluded him.

Dancing with the graceful princess had drawn many eyes to the dance, most of curiosity, others speaking amongst themselves, nodding appreciatively. It was as if the entire building of Merethrond had decided to play matchmaker. And if there was one thing Théodred could not tolerate, it was when others decided to interfere in his own private affairs. Truth be told, he had always preferred keeping his own matters private, despite the difficulties in doing so. Growing up as the Crowned Prince of the Riddermark had led to a rather public life and many decisions on his behalf being made by that of his father or other important men on his father's council. So when the chances came for him alone to make those decisions, he felt rather protective of them and his verdicts.

But now he was the King of the Mark. A sudden occurrence had caused his entire life to become even less private; servants, councilmen, guards, ushers, grooms, secretaries, pageboys, clerks, ambassadors – he was constantly surrounded. Even whilst asleep in his own bedchamber, servants would walk into his rooms freely, cleaning up and preparing for the coming day. At least he was able to lock his bedchamber door when he was a prince. Nowadays, as king, if he even tried to do such a thing, his personal guards would have the door beaten down in fear of ill-fated events.

Gazing silently at his dance partner, Théodred wondered what it would be like to wake up to Lothíriel every morning. Hmmm – he was not entirely sure if she was to his carnal liking. Pretty... beautiful he would even say. But not to his variety. Then what _was_ his type if not a princess. This woman was the highest pick of them all. The tallest and most blossomed flower in the field. What was his problem? He noticed Lothíriel blush under his gaze, averting her eyes away. His own eyes smiled, seeing the shyness her brother had mentioned surfacing. A true maiden, he thought admirably. Prince Imrahil had done well raising her honourably in a house full of men. Chances were that the idea of a marriage between them would arise during one of the many councils that took place in both Gondor and Rohan. Théodred wondered which council would make the suggestion verbally first. Perhaps Imrahil himself would approach him on the matter. Théodred frowned at the realisation that he was the king, yet those around him would more than likely come up with marriage suitors without even consulting him. He was the king! For Béma's sake! Nobody should make that decision or even mention it without his approval first.

"My lord."

Théodred spun his head around to face Lothíriel at hearing her quizzing voice.

"The dance is over, my lord," she stated.

"O... oh," he murmured, seeing the dancers on the floor dissipate. He turned back to Lothíriel, smiling. "My lady, allow me to escort you back to your father."

Lothíriel smiled inwardly. "He would appreciate your gesture, my lord."

Oh, he sure would! Théodred thought to himself. "Your father appears very proud and honoured to have such a beautiful lady as his daughter. You have blossomed quite commendably."

Lothíriel blushed furiously at the compliments. "I thank you, my lord."

"Your father must be receiving many suitors for your hand," he continued, moving through the crowd at a leisurely pace.

"Few, yes, my lord," she replied. "I have already been courted once by the heir to the Lordship of Pelargir." She remained silent for a split second. "In fact, you have already noticed his sister. She was the woman standing in front of that crowed before."

"Oh?" Théodred said, interested. "And how do you find her brother?"

"His name is Lord Othron, and he is very handsome," she replied somewhat dreamily. "A gentlemen worthy of the titles Lord and Knight. However, the courtship ended in nothing, for the Great War broke out and Lord Othron did not have time to pay court to me anymore. Also, during the war, when he travelled to Minas Tirith to assist my cousin, Faramir in the defence of Osgiliath, he met a lady here in the city. They are now betrothed."

"How do you feel about his decision?"

Lothíriel gave a small shrug. "Honestly, I am glad he chose her hand rather than mine, for if he had married me, he would have been in love with another woman. I am proud of him for his decision. He could have easily married me and gained the title Prince. But he did not. He is a good man for doing that."

"He is certainly," Théodred agreed. "What is his sister's name?"

Lothíriel smiled. "Which one?"

His brows rose. "How many does he have?"

Lothíriel chuckled. "Two, my lord. The eldest – the middle child – is Lady Míria. She was the one you noticed earlier. The youngest is Lady Cellissel, the one who Lady Míria dragged away from the dance floor."

"Does that happen often?"

Lothíriel stiffened her giggle. "On frequent occasions, my lord. If not her sister, then either her brother or parents perform the same gestures. Lady Cellissel has a reputation of being... frivolous." Lothíriel temporarily paused before adding quickly: "But do not think the rest of her family behaves as she does. As I have already said, Lord Othron is an honourable man, and Lady Míria – as diverse as she can be at times – is also a modest young woman, worthy of the court of Gondor."

Before Théodred had the chance to reply, they had approached Imrahil, who beamed at the sight of his daughter being escorted to him by the King of Rohan.

"I believe I have something that belongs to your keeping," Théodred said humouredly, giving Lothíriel's hand to her father's own.

Imrahil grinned. "Perhaps one day she will be fortunate enough to be given into the keeping of another, honourable man."

Théodred saw Lothíriel's cheeks redden, her eyes downcast as she bit her bottom lip.

"Whoever that man shall end up being will be very fortunate indeed." Théodred gave a quick look around the hall, trying to find Éomer. "If you both will excuse me, I must do my turn of the hall."

He was not making a run for it, at least not yet. He still was not entirely sure why he was silently refusing Princess Lothíriel. Either he truly did not find her to his liking in that context, or he was being stubborn and had decided that he would purposely not follow through any courtship with her. Still, it would be an insult to Imrahil if he completely ignored his daughter. What was he doing? he thought, groaning to himself. He was making his life all the more complicated. Perhaps he should just wed the princess and accept the fact that his married life will be the outcome of politics and not that of his heart. He seriously preferred the latter.

Théodred spotted Elfhelm conversing with a Gondorian captain. Théodred liked Elfhelm, having him keep his station as Marshal of the Garrison of Edoras, thus making him Théodred's right handed man in military policy next to Éomer. It was not only that which made Théodred feel close to Elfhelm, nor was it the blood relation that they shared from one of Théodred's aunts. Elfhelm was ten years the king's senior, and had been Théodred's final instructor when it came to swordsmanship. He had been there during Théodred's first battle, his first patrol, and even made sure he had been properly cared for after he received his first serious battle wound. He was a true friend through and through.

"Elfhelm," Théodred said, severing the conversation between the two men.

"Théodred King," Elfhelm replied, turning back to his old company, nodding his head in goodbye.

"You do not need to address me in such titles," Théodred replied matter-of-factly.

Elfhelm merely shrugged. "Your station has changed since the days I called you only by your name."

"Éomer still calls me such."

"Éomer is your cousin," Elfhelm stated.

"As are you." Théodred folded his arms critically.

Again, Elfhelm shrugged those words off. "I was not raised with you, nor did I spend much time with your father, the late Théoden King. My father was of the westfold, and I only came to Edoras to become your instructor."

"In any case, I permit you – nay! – I command you to call me plain Théodred."

Elfhelm smiled. "As you command."

"Good," Théodred unfolded his arms, turning to catch a glimpse of Prince Imrahil. "I fear I may be lured into a marriage."

Elfhelm laughed. "You should expect as much now that you are king."

Théodred growled under his breath. "Prince Imrahil introduced me to his daughter, Princess Lothíriel."

Elfhelm raised his brows. "Oh? How did that acquaintance fair?

"Well, although part of me just wants to rebel against the whole idea."

"Something which you excel at," Elfhelm replied. "Do you remember all the times your father would scold you for disobeying him."

"Mmm." Théodred ran his fingers through his long, dark blonde hair. "My bad behaviour as a child will most definitely come back to haunt me when I have a son of my own."

"In that case, you will need a wife in order to have a son," Elfhelm said, stating the obvious.

"I know that," Théodred replied, wanting to cry out with annoyance at himself. "I... I..." He sighed heavily. "I do not want a political marriage. Those unions are always awkward."

Elfhelm chuckled. "Then perhaps you should become better acquainted with the princess."

"But what if she is not the one?" he asked.

Elfhelm frowned. "_Not the one_? Oh, Théodred, you cannot be serious."

"You were able to marry for love," Théodred affirmed.

"Indeed." Again, Elfhelm was frowning. "I was always and still am surprised that Eacwyn married me out of love. After all, I am twelve years her senior."

"I never believed age is an issue when it comes to unions of the heart."

"Quite true," Elfhelm agreed. "Still, what am I? a garrison marshal, while you are the King of the Riddermark! Your choices and life will become far more complicated down the future path. You cannot expect to get your way with everything. Some decisions will have to be made out of necessity. An arranged marriage may become one of those necessities."

Théodred sighed, knowing he was speaking the truth. "Prince Imrahil has become a dear friend to me over these past months. Not only that, it was he who realised that Éowyn was not dead after slaying the Witch-King. He and his sons have been so generous. I just hope they do not expect me to repay that generosity by marring Princess Lothíriel.

"She is the highest ranking woman in both Gondor and the Mark," Elfhelm pointed out.

Théodred groaned. "I _know_ that. Béma be damned! She is nice enough. I suppose I could live in contentment with her."

Elfhelm slapped the king's back in a friendly manner. "How about we all wait and see what happens after the funeral."

Théodred nodded with agreement. "Wise words, my friend."

The celebrations continued merrily through the evening; many danced, feasted, conversed, and sang happily until their hearts were content. Théodred participated in many dances with other ladies, partaking in polite conversations, kissing their hands. The young king began to enjoy himself, the festivities taking his mind off that of the gloomier thoughts that tended to occupy his mind these days.

After enjoying the company of the many ladies attending the feast, Théodred realised there was still one important lady whose hand he had not yet kissed. And to his delight, he saw her walking in his direction, yet paying him no heed at all. He casually strolled over to intercept her, and managed to catch her off guard. She came to such an abrupt halt that she clutched her stomach, her eyes wide as she looked up at him. She must have realised who he was, for she sank into a deep curtsy, yet never taking her eyes off his.

"Théodred King," she murmured, finally ducking her head.

Théodred bowed his head politely. She stood up straight, avoiding his eyes as she smoothed out her deep blue gown.

"And who might you be, my lady?" he asked casually.

She opened her mouth to answer, but refrained when she saw the curious gaze he held on her. "I-I am Lady Míria of Pelargir, daughter of Lord Súldir of Pelargir."

"Lady Míria," he said, gently raising her hand to kiss it. "I had the opportunity to meet your father during the Great War."

She frowned. "How can that be so? Pelargir was attacked by the Corsairs of Umbar. My father was busy defending his port."

"I meant during the march to the dark lands, my lady."

"Oh," she replied softly. "Well in that case, yes, you must have met him. It was my brother, Lord Othron who remained in Pelargir during that time."

"Let us speak of other matters," Théodred said, not particularly interested in talking of war with this young woman.

"What do you wish to discuss with me?" she asked, confused. "You have only just met me."

Théodred chocked on a laugh. He smiled at her. "There are a great many things we may discuss."

"Yes," she replied reluctantly. "However, I am not the one for small talk, or talking for no particular reason." She gulped. "But you are a king, so if you desire my company, who am I to refuse."

Théodred ran her words through his head a couple of times. "You do not wish to be in my company, my lady?"

"Oh," she said again, but this time much louder. "I did not mean offence." She blushed, looking at the surroundings around her. "I only meant, I... well..." She laughed nervously. "You must forgive me, my lord."

Théodred grinned. "No apology necessary, Lady Míria."

After several silent moments, she spoke again, "May I speak clearly, my lord?"

"Please," he offered.

"I was hoping not to catch your eye this evening," she blurted. "I saw you dancing and speaking with all the other pretty ladies in Merethrond that I did not wish to become one of them."

Théodred frowned while Míria continued.

"As much as it flatters me that you found my _pretty_ enough to converse with, I do not desire such attention from such a high authorised figure."

"What are you trying to say, my lady?" he asked, resisting the urge to fold his arms. "Speak plainly."

"Well..." Míria found herself at a loss for words. "I suppose I like the idea of rebelling against normal protocol. I have these moments where I just wished to be left alone. I have enough to deal with trying to handle my... my inane younger sister. When dealing with her, I do not wish to be approached by anyone. Especially not a lady charmer."

Théodred raised his brows at her last sentence. "You find me a _lady charmer_?"

"I... uhhh... I suppose I am biased towards men who charm numerous ladies in one room."

"Would you prefer I charm only one?"

"You were in the company of Princess Lothíriel earlier," she replied, raising her own brows. "You both suited each other wonderfully. Not to mention she is a lovely, poised woman. You seemed to enjoy her company. How do you think she would have felt seeing you mooning over all those other ladies."

Théodred raised both his hands at her. "Let us hold it right there. I am in no way courting the princess. I have only just met her!"

"Do you not believe in first impression?" she asked accusingly. "Everyone here knows you and the princess would be a perfect match."

"Why?" he asked in a low hiss, "because we both possess high titles? that means we must wed and bed each other?"

Míria blinked hard at his words. "Is that not how protocol is meant to proceed?"

Théodred eyed her in a scrutinising way. "You yourself have only just said you do not always enjoy protocol?"

"Yes, I said that," she agreed.

"Has it ever occurred to you that there may be other people who feel the same as you do?"

Míria lowered her eyes, then shot them back up to look into his. "Are you suggesting that you, too, do not always enjoy protocol?" She sounded half-amused, half-skeptical.

"Precisely."

Míria allowed herself to smile. "Well, my lord. Your person has just risen in my esteem. A king who does not always enjoy following protocol is a rare case. Were you not raised to follow such procedures?"

"Of course I was," he answered.

Míria nodded, appearing a little embarrassed. "I am sorry if I caused offence to you, my lord. I sometimes say things that I should not. It is a bad habit of mine, and can lead me into strife."

Théodred hummed in agreement. "At least you are mature enough to realise it. Many would not do such a thing these days."

"Thank you, my lord," she replied, smiling again. "I am glad you find me so. I am often labelled as the peculiar lady who speaks her mind a little too often."

Théodred chuckled. "I assure you, it is better to speak one's mind than to lie all the time. Lying is trait that my people are very much against; my people are very truthful."

"Really?" she asked, her curiosity peaking. "Then perhaps I should find a Rohirric husband to wed and live there."

"Your personality would be very much welcomed in the Mark." He was definitely not lying there. In some ways, Lady Míria reminded Théodred of Éowyn, or even some of the chambermaids who served him throughout his years. Many of them did not even attempt to hold their tongues when they believe they needed to scold him for something.

"I will be visiting your realm soon," she confessed. "My father has been invited to attend the funeral of the late Théoden King. I will be travelling along with my brother and sister in the procession."

Théodred nodded. Seeing a sign of discomfort in him, Míria frowned.

"I am sorry if I have caused discomfort, my lord. I did not mean to bring up memories of your late father."

Théodred snapped out of his thoughts and smiled at her. "You meant no harm. In any case, I am gladdened to know that you will be travelling to my land in the near future. I am now convinced you will find them very much welcoming." Théodred took a step back and bowed. "I hope to see you more often, my lady."

Once he had gone, Míria let out a large breath of relief. She eyed those around her and noticed they had caused a bit of entertainment and curiosity from those who had witnessed their little squabble. She smiled uncertainly at them before hastily making her way over to her brother's side.

Éomer stood next to one of the numerous pillars within Merethrond. He had watched everything around him, taking in the scenery, drinking deep into the Gondorian wine. The one event he had watched particularly closely was his cousin-king dancing with the beautiful princess Lothíriel. He inwardly groaned thinking of it. Théodred was the king; Lothíriel was the princess. A perfect match indeed. He should not even be thinking of the woman in any other way than an acquaintance. Chances were Théodred would take her as his bride, bed her, and get a son off her. Yet she was so darn beautiful! Why did she have to shine in his eyes? Why did he have to _notice_ her? Again, he groaned, knowing he was sinking into thick, deep mud. He knew Théodred would not take a bride - or even discuss such matters - until after the funeral. Then the fun would begin, Éomer thought sarcastically. He just hoped this fancy he had for her was a passing one, as they all had been in the past. But then, those women he had had a fancy for were never princesses! Éomer dared himself to take another glimpse of Lothíriel, who was now dancing with her brother, Prince Erchirion. There was no doubt about it: Lothíriel was a queen in the making.

* * *

><p><strong>...<strong>

**Fact:** Elfhelm was not – to our knowledge – a cousin to Théodred. I made that up, as Théoden had about four sisters. We only here about his youngest sister, Theodwyn – Éomer and Éowyn's mother. I am sure the other sisters, or at least one other would have married and had children, and those children would probably have held some sort of high title within the community.

**Also**, it probably appears a little strange to be starting this story during the Merethrond feast. Usually when a story about Théodred surviving is written, it takes you through the entire war. I decided to avoid that, yet still tell that tale via flashbacks, dreams, etc throughout future chapters.

Let's face it: we all know how the story goes for the Rohirrim during the war. The circumstances would most likely have remained the same if Théodred were to survive. Of course, there would have been changes, but as I have said, they will be told later on.

_Thank you for reading this tale, or any of my other tales I have told on this site. Your alerts, favourites, and reviews are always grateful and appreciated._

Lady Demiya


	3. A Chance at Friendship

The sun started to rise, spreading its warm rays over the Pelennor. The commoners of Gondor woke to the coming warm breeze of summer from the western region. It was the end of spring, meaning no more foggy mornings with leaves covered in dew, and the witnessing of the birds shaking away their nightly gathering of water of their feathers would have to wait until the coming of winter. It was a prosperous summer ahead for all good involved. Gondor and Rohan had reforged their alliance; a new king for men of the south showered the people with hope of new beginnings after the great Elessar had gathered the Host of the West and marched onwards to the coming end of the Dark Lord. Better yet, their new king had an already forged bond with the new young king of Rohan: Théodred King, son of Théoden Ednew. With their friendship, trade had open up once again in the short months after the war. All seemed good and clear. Yet for the young king of the Horse lords, the memories of what occurred only months earlier were clearer than the future path lying before him.

Théodred opened his eyes slowly, rubbing them as the light from the sun hit his face from the open window. He was not a morning person; he wished he had been for all those years spent out on patrols with his men. But it was in his blood, as he father had told him it was something he had inherited from his mother. Out of all the many things he could have inherited from her, it had to be this. Forcing himself to sit up, he noticed his lady friend from the previous night had already left. He wondered if her exit had been a walk of shame or one of pure delight. He had not been sure of her. She had been a rather hard person to read. But that was all clouded by her looks; grey eyes, wavy black hair – a man likes variety. It was a nice change to the usual golden locks that resided in Edoras.

He shuffled out onto the small alcove that looked out into the garden display of the sixth level. He leaned on the railing, taking in the scenery. He missed his homeland - the thatched rooves, the large open terrace of Meduseld, and the smell of hay and wet grass in the early mornings; the sound of horses clopping along the cobble pathways, and the large gusts of wind that would sweep through Edoras. He kept reminding himself that he would be home soon. No more cold, stone buildings, or dark-haired figures. Soon he would be home, and the homesickness he felt would be abated.

Movement in the gardens below drew him out of his thoughts. A woman with dark brown hair, dressed in a puce-coloured gown walked slowly along the garden-path. Théodred hummed curiously, knowing who the figure was. He smiled to himself before heading back into his bedchamber.

Míria walked, hands clasped at her waist. It was a beautiful morning, the sun beaming down its rays onto her face. She tipped her head back, closing her eyes to take in the warmth. She stood still, listening to the bees buzzing around the assortment of flowers. She allowed herself for a single moment to imagine herself being elsewhere in the world. Sure the war was over now, but that did not mean that she liked Minas Tirith any better, or Pelargir as well. Too many memories of what had happened in the past months still lingered. But then again she assumed it would be like that everywhere in the world. Middle-earth needed time to heal. And those that occupied this rare existence needed to be the healers. It was a pity many of the nobles of Gondor only took pride in rebuilding their homes and all things made of stone. She had heard her father talking with their neighbour here in Minas Tirith about how nature would not need assistance in healing, for nature had a way of making its own way in life without the assistance of man. Míria allowed herself to frown at this bitter memory. All memories of her parents seemed bitter these days…

It was not as if Míria and Cellissel were kept in place during the war. Whilst their father was away on duty, attending council with Lord Denethor, the sisters had free range in Pelargir the last two years. Their brother was either in Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith serving for the good cause, and their mother had never been a good influence. Lady Noruineth was more interested in the latest gossip within the small Pelargir court, and spent more time with her friends than her own daughters. That is how Cellissel had become a loose woman; stealing the servants clothing to dress plainly to drink, sing, and dance in the taverns along the port. And as for Míria? Well Míria believe she had come out rather well, despite those few occasions of quarrelling with her mother, writing rude letters to her father, becoming so bored that she began causing mischief around Pelargir, but allowing others take the blame for it. The war had broken her family apart, as it had done to other noble families in Gondor. The problem was, that the war had ended so unexpectedly, had made such a drastic change to Gondor – a king, future queen, Ithilien back in their grasps – that the children of noble birth had no time to make the needed adjustment to this new life.

Míria mentally shrugged her thoughts away. Crunching of leaves under someone's feet brought Míria out of her thoughts. She turned to see a pretty figure standing by the water feature. It was Princess Lothíriel.

"Oh, hello," Míria said, curtseying. "Enjoying this fine weather too?"

Lothíriel smiled, taking a seat on one of the benches. "It is a beautiful day to be outdoors. I had intended on spending my time indoors today, but I could not resist this inviting weather."

Míria walked over, sitting next to the woman of her own age. "How is your family?"

"Well."

It had been a long time since Míria had spoken to Lothíriel, that she felt a little awkward. Both Lady and Princess were not exactly close friends, but pleasant enough to each other. They had come to meet through Míria's brother's courtship to the princess. Back then, life had been simpler - more pleasant. Once the war has broken out, they never saw each other, as both ladies they kept to their respectful cities, carrying out all they could do in assistance to the men of their families. At least, that is what Lothíriel did. Her mother, the Princess of Dol Amroth had been a far better influence on her daughter than Míria's own mother had.

Míria let her cheeks puff out, slowly releasing her breath. "Did you enjoy the celebrations last night?"

Lothíriel looked at Míria plainly with a slight tilt to her head. "You have never been interested in me, so why show interest now?"

Míria blinked hard, allowing her eyes to narrow. "I was just being nice."

"You have always been 'just nice'." There was a cool crispness to her voice.

Míria chose to look away into the distance. "I may not know you well enough. But I do know adequately what you are like. Aren't you usually the shy modest princess who holds her tongue?"

Lothíriel stood up, brushing her skirt. "I have decided to turn a new leaf."

"Turn a new leaf," Míria replied bluntly.

The princess smiled. "Yes. All this time my parents have sheltered me from that dreadful war. Now a new sun is shining, and I feel like playing outside."

Míria stood up, staying a reasonable distance from the more superior figure. "And how are you finding this new playtime of yours, my lady?"

"Oh, I have only just begun having my fun," Lothíriel replied sweetly. "So, to add the honey to my breakfast this morning, I must say that I would like us to be friends."

Friends? Míria inhaled deeply. Friends! "I do not understand."

The princess took a step closer, keeping her hands clasped at her waist. "I have always heard rumours about your... your ways. And deep down I have envied you for having such..." Lothíriel unclasped her hands, letting them splay before her, "such freedom. I was never allowed to go for walks without a guard accompanying me, or have my food tasted whenever I dinned outside the palace walls."

"Your food tasted?" Míria blurted out disbelievingly.

"Because Dol Amroth is reasonably close to Umbar and Harad, Belfalas was always the key target to attacks on nobles," she said as if she were explaining it to a small child. "The nobles of Belfalas became so paranoid, food tasting ended up becoming a tradition before dinner."

"That is the silliest thing I have ever heard," Míria replied wryly. "Was anyone ever poisoned?"

Lothíriel nodded. "Only once. That is why is started."

"Who was poisoned?"

"My great-uncle, brother to my grandfather, Prince Adrahil," she replied sombrely.

Míria mouthed 'oh'. "Well I must say I am glad those days are over."

Lothíriel nodded eagerly. "As am I."

Both women stood in silence, staring at each other: one scrutinizing, the other looking on curiously.

Míria broke from her intense gaze. She just realised that this princess was really being serious in her suggestion. "Will you not be uncomfortable being in my presence because of that brother of mine?"

Lothíriel barely shrugged. "He does not concern me anymore."

Míria slightly declined her head, her brows narrowing. "What about your own brothers. Won't they disapprove of you spending time with someone who is classed as 'obscure'?"

Again, Lothíriel made it out that she did not seem to care. "Elphir, perhaps. But he and my father are busy with council, and my other two brothers are leaving for home in a few days. The rest of my family are still in Dol Amroth, so they will not know."

Míria raised her brows and looked away. "You make it sound as if I am a trouble maker."

"Well you have caused trouble in the past," Lothíriel stated matter-of-factly.

Míria rounded on her, her eyes were narrow, and voice sharp. "Only within my family. I _hate_ them." She clasped her hand to her mouth, wishing she had not spoken that last line. She closed her eyes tightly.

"You do not mean that," Lothíriel said gently.

Slowly, Míria opened her eyes; taking a deep breath, she said, "No, I don't. But they are very frustrating to live with. And it seems that nobody in this society believes me, or is even willing to look into the matter. They just think that I am some... some trouble maker and my sister a whore!"

Anger and frustration overwhelmed Míria as she stomped over to the bench, sitting back down with a sigh.

Lothíriel gazed on with sympathy, feeling a little guilty for her spoken words. "I am sorry if I have upset you, Míria. I don't want you to hate me."

Míria bowed her head. "I suppose it would be nice to have a friend."

"Are you implying that you have no friends at all?" Lothíriel was shocked.

The Lady of Pelargir looked up into the princess' eyes. "I have few back in Pelargir. And I do love my sister, but if I showed that affection publicly it would appear that I am approving of her behaviour."

Lothíriel went to join her on the bench. "Why don't you simply tell her to stop?"

Míria felt like rolling her eyes. "Unfortunately, my sister's ways have become an addiction to her. She thrives on it."

"Perhaps if we put our two minds together, we can find a way to abate her ways," the princess said hopefully.

Míria arched her eyebrow. "Have you never been around someone with an addiction?"

Lothíriel shook her head.

"Well," Míria began slowly, "let us take my aunt's husband for an example. He was addicted to liquor. He became so addicted he would spend all his earnings from his workplace before he came home each day. His behaviour went on like this for weeks before my aunt took up the courage to tell my father about the poverty their family had started to endure. Her husband did not mean to spend all their money, but it happened in the end." Míria paused and sighed. "That is what Cellissel is like. She does not want to be known as a whore, but she cannot help herself. She loves that sort of physical contact she can receive from a man."

They sat in silence in a while, listening to the birds twitter from the branches.

"I wonder what it is like," Lothíriel spoke aloud, her head tilted to the side while she fixed her gaze on the water fountain.

"What?" Míria asked.

"To have physical contact with a man."

A few more moments of silence endured between them.

"Are you referring to what happens between married couples?" Míria asked, deciding to choose her words carefully.

"Yes," Lothíriel replied, still staring at the fountain. "And those people like your sister... no offence given."

Míria giggled. "None taken. Well, my sister must like it enough to be addicted to it." She sighed. "And she is not the only one I know who loooves doing _it_."

"Who else?" Curiosity piqued in the princess's voice.

"Well, men in general, I suppose." She turned to Lothíriel. "I often hear my brother and his fellow friends talking and joking about it. Cellissel has a few female companions – no doubt from a brothel – who indulge right into all the details whilst talking among themselves."

"What do they say?"

"Oh," her voice trailed off. "I am not sure we should be talking about such things." Míria eyed Lothíriel with an eyebrow arched. "You are a princess after all."

Lothíriel let out a noise that sounded between a grumble and a hum. "I am so tired of people hushing up around me. I hate being treated like a… a…"

"Princess?" Míria offered.

"Yes."

This time, Míria laughed aloud. "Oh dear." She sent a meaningful look Lothiriel's way. "Why am I receiving this feeling from you that you have this idea in that pretty little head of yours to be rebellious?"

"No," Lothíriel replied. "I do not want to rebel, I just want a broader understanding of life."

Míria nodded. "I can understand that. Gondorians always thirst for knowledge."

Lothíriel slowly nodded, remaining silent, watching the trees move in the wind. "So… will you be attending dinner this evening?"

"Most certainly," she replied. "My father was originally only going to take my mother and brother with him tonight, but the king extended the invitation to Cellissel and I."

"I am glad to hear that," the young princess replied, smiling. "The king has requested that I show off my skills with the harp after supper. Without sounding too proud, I do excel in music."

"Can you sing?"

The princesses nodded her head enthusiastically. "My family loves my singing. I sing to them every evening back home."

Míria arched an eyebrow at that. "Every evening?"

Seeing the woman's face, Lothíriel frowned. "What?"

Míria covered her mouth to stop laughing. "I am so glad I do not have your life. It sounds like a never ending dull routine."

Lothíriel growled lowly, crossing her arms. "I will see you at dinner this evening. Good day."

Once the princess was out of sight, Míria let out the breath she had been holding in. She leaned forward while she sat, letting strands of hair fall around her face. Why did she get this feeling that this princess would lead her – possibly unintentionally – into mischief?


End file.
